A Good Partner
by HorsesRMyAngels
Summary: They know that they want something more than a partnership and friendship. But they're both damaged, and they'll have to take risks if they want to become more than just good partners. A story in which Tony and Ziva learn to build a relationship on top of nearly eight years of partnership.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi! Okay so this is my first attempt at a multi-chap fic. Just a warning, the next month is going to be extremely busy for me, so don't expect an update until the beginning of February, maybe the end of January after my midterms if I can spare the time. This is just an idea I had about how Tony and Ziva might go about building a romantic relationship on top of their partnership. I'm not sure how long it's going to be yet, but it's definitely not going to be one of those 40 chapter fics! Maybe closer to ten. We'll see. Anyways, reviews are always welcome! Thanks for reading!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but a laptop and the DVDs of seasons 3 and 4. **

* * *

A glance can communicate a multitude of things when passed between good partners. It can articulate a strategy, a warning, praise. A glance between a certain pair might, in a rare case, convey affection, or something deeper. This particular glance is not of the latter, but of the first. Now is a time for strategy, for saving lives.

_That way, _his eyes tell her.

A short shake of her chin in another direction.

_I'll go around, cut him off._

_Fine._

And then he gives her one last glance before the strategy is executed, the warning.

_Take care of yourself, Ziva._

She gives him a nearly imperceptible smile.

_I always do._

The entire exchange takes about five seconds.

* * *

Sometimes words prove to be the more prudent medium for warnings.

"Tony!" she shouts, his name reverberating throughout the warehouse as her heart stops beating, her common sense evaporates, and her time-tested instincts gain control of her. She should have gone in with him. She should have covered him like she was supposed to. He's her partner, she's his backup,

and now Commander Barron's rifle is trained on him from across the building, but she's out of ammunition from the preceding gunfight. So Ziva does what she does best, and saves her partner's six.

When he turns around in response to her warning, the only thing between Tony and that bullet is Ziva and a Kevlar vest.

* * *

He sees the sniper. He aims. He fires. He hits his mark.

He glances down to see Ziva lying at his feet, a shallow whimper of pain escaping her lips, and an electric shock of panic, of terror, courses through his body.

"Ziva!" he cries out her name as he kneels beside her on the cold, hard ground. Tony notices how tiny, how fragile she looks when she is wounded, and he thinks that might be the most terrifying thing he's ever witnessed. Ex-Mossad assassins aren't supposed to be fragile. He reaches out feebly to touch her face, his thumb brushing across her cheekbone as his index and middle fingers check her pulse.

"I am fine, Tony," she laughs shakily, stirring and blinking her eyes open. "This is certainly not the first time I have been shot at."

He laughs too, in relief. He thinks he might feel tears of joy forming in his eyes, but he refuses to acknowledge them, to let them fall.

"You saved my life." These are perhaps the most obvious four words he could have uttered, but it's all he can manage right now. For a second, he thought he'd lost her, and losing her is _not_ a possibility. He can't even imagine the possibility of losing her anymore without feeling that dark and heavy cloud of depression, of hopelessness, rolling in again.

"Is that a thank you?"

"It most certainly is."

A glance of praise and gratitude passes between them.

As Ziva begins to raise her sore and bruised body from the ground, he hears a noise, and his mind flashes back to another day, in a similar situation, from years ago; flashes back to Kate Todd.

"Stay down!" he shouts, pushing her back to the ground as he uses his own body to shield her from the as-of-yet-to-be-identified threat. He sees the red laser and fires. The sniper falls dead with a soft thud, a bullet in between his eyes.

Tony turns back to Ziva, whose eyes are wide with fear and whose face has gone pale. He notices her deep, shaky breaths, and in turn becomes in tuned to his own ragged breathing. She looks so…terrified, and that just won't do. He can't stand to see his ninja scared like this, because Ziva, well, Ziva doesn't get scared. And so he does something extremely out of the ordinary, and pulls her into his arms, cradling her head between his hand and shoulder. He needs to feel her heart beating, needs to feel her breath against his neck, needs to feel her arms clutching at his sides like she's never going to let him go again, because he certainly doesn't want to ever let her go.

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs' voice shouts from his ear bud. Tony's lips can't seem to form the words to answer him just yet. "DiNozzo, David, acknowledge!" he barks.

"We're fine boss," Tony breathes into the mic, "Commander Barron and the two others are dead, but Ziva and I are fine."

He can hear Ziva murmuring Hebrew words which he thinks might be a prayer. While Tony isn't a praying man, he figures it can't hurt to say one of thanks right now.

* * *

Back in the squad room that night, sitting at their respective desks, filling out incident reports, Tony can't keep his eyes off of her. She could've died today, hell, he could've died today. But they're alive, sitting across from each other, just like it's another day at the office. Although, to be fair, nearly every day at the office tends to include a near death experience. This one is just…different, too close a call for comfort.

It puzzles him how after everything they've been through, they're still, in essence, the same as they've been from the start. Tony and Ziva, partners, that's how it's always been (the summer after Jenny died and the one after he killed Rivkin excepted). For years, they'd both been completely content with their relationship, their partnership, their friendship. But somewhere along the line, something had changed. Maybe it was Somalia, maybe it was Paris, maybe it was…Ray. Or maybe it was one of the many people they'd been involved with, and the jealousy that had subsequently arisen. Or maybe it wasn't any one person or event, maybe it was just, well, them. Maybe it was all the time, because there'd been a whole lot of that. Whatever it was that caused it, he knows one thing for certain, and it's that he's done waiting around for something to happen between them, done waiting around for someone else to come between them, done waiting for a bullet to take one of them away forever. He is suddenly confronted with the realization that he has a second chance (or maybe this is the fifth), that she is right here with him, and that he wants to take it.

But the thing is, he's not sure how he's going to stop waiting and start taking action. When faced with Ziva David, Anthony DiNozzo, the notorious lady's man, is frozen with unbridled fear and hesitation. Ziva isn't just another woman, another relationship doomed from the start. Ziva David is special. What he feels when he looks at her and when he hears her voice is something he can't quite place, can't quite name, although maybe he's just kidding himself. He knows, but he's clueless as to how to make himself admit it. Fear of commitment has driven nearly every relationship decision over the past twelve years, and patterns are hard to break, especially when breaking them poses the greatest risk he's ever faced.

Tony realizes he is staring when she looks up from her file and stares back at him.

"Everything alright, Tony?" she asks softly, tiredly. He nods, looks her in the eye.

"Everything's peachy," he assures her. She furrows her brow in confusion, unable to grasp the idiomatic expression this late at night, but she's too tired to ask for a translation. Closing the file, she stands.

"Where are you going?" Tony blurts out before he can censor himself. All of a sudden he's feeling extremely possessive of her, which is odd because he's never felt that way about her before. Hell, he was willing to let her marry another man because he'd thought it would make her happy just a year ago. But things change, people change, terrorists blow up buildings and scramble a person's thoughts and feelings up so much that it's hard to stand on steady ground without feeling dizzy.

Ziva eyes him skeptically.

"I need to file my report," she replies monosyllabically.

"Oh."

"Would you like to come with me?" she offers. He glances down at his own unfinished incident report.

"I, uh, still have to finish this."

Ziva nods and walks away.

As he watches her go, watches how her dark brown hair shines as the dim light bounces off of it, Tony begins to wonder if she wasn't talking about filing reports when she asked him to go with her. He starts to wish he'd agreed.

* * *

He is bent over the paperwork when she comes back from filing her report. She stands on the staircase behind him, watching as he works.

Ziva can tell that something is bothering him. She is aware of the significance of today's events; he saved her life in a similar situation as the one in which he, Gibbs and McGee couldn't save Kate. Only in that situation, it hadn't been a random suspect firing the shot, but Ziva's own half-brother. She feels a pang of guilt over this, and is quite ashamed at the realization that if Ari hadn't killed Kate, she and Tony would never have met.

She shakes her head, trying to dislodge the thought from her mind. Not meeting Tony is something she simply can't fathom; he is far too important to her. Tony has saved her life countless times, today being the most recent. And while there have been times when he and his actions have torn her apart, made her question her loyalties, at the end of the day he has always been her shoulder to cry on, her savior. She supposes she should loathe him for making her so dependent on him, but she doesn't. All she knows is that the way she feels about him isn't how she's supposed to. And no, she isn't completely dependent on him; she can disarm and apprehend a suspect in a tenth of the time it takes him, and she's saved his life just as many times as he's saved hers. But emotionally, she knows she needs him much more than she should. It's much too dangerous, she thinks, to be so attached to a man who has a new woman every week (although, now that she thinks about it, she can't remember the last time he bragged about having a date; in fact, she thinks it's been months since she's heard him talking about a woman).

Tony looks up from his work just then, and closes the file. She stands there, waiting for him to rise from his chair, but he doesn't. Instead, he crosses his arms over his chest and stares at her empty desk.

Ziva's breath catches in her throat. Maybe she's being naïve, but she's almost positive he's thinking about her, and the longer he stares at her desk the more sure she becomes. He lets out a sigh so deep she can hear it from where she waits, watching.

"Ziva," she swears she hears him whisper in a voice so tender she can feel herself melting; the night janitor might just have to mop her up off the floor. She stands frozen in her place until he finally comes to his feet and moves to leave the bull pen, at which time she hurriedly continues her descent. They pass as she makes her way back to her desk.

"Good night," she says with a smile, hoping she isn't blushing, "and thank you."

"Any time," he reciprocates, flashing her a grin. "Good night. Sleep tight."

When she gathers her things, something forces her to direct her gaze towards the stairs, where he has momentarily paused on the landing.

Ziva and Tony lock eyes, and in that instant, they both feel something shift. Perhaps it is the catalyst they desperately need.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: I'm back! Sorry it's taken me so long to update, it's been a busy few weeks. I managed to find time to write this over MLK weekend. For your reference, I've decided to make this canon to "Shabbat Shalom" and "Shiva", just because they were amazing episodes and I think Shiva represented such an incredible step forward in Tony and Ziva's relationship that I can't help but reference them. That being said, those will probably be the last episodes this is canon to. Oh, and yeah, spoilers for those two episodes as well as Shell Shock Part 1. Major thank you to everyone who reviewed/favorited/followed this story!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the DVDs of Seasons 3-6. **

* * *

Like a lost puppy, he sits around for an hour trying to figure out what the hell he's going to do. Everyone else has left; it's just him and the pencil he taps on the edge of his desk, allowing the irritating click to become the steady background music to his pensive loitering. Eventually, he convinces himself of the fact that he has two options, these being to get his ass out of his chair and drag himself to her apartment, or to drag himself home for another night of lonely drinking until he falls asleep on the couch to the lullaby of TCM.

The latter, while obviously the easier option, is at this moment far less appealing than the former.

He's been trying to give her space ever since she returned from her father's funeral in Israel. Not too much space, though, just enough space that he doesn't feel like a barnacle clinging to her with all of his strength. He remains close enough to allow her his shoulder to cry on, should she need it. The offer he made her when he followed her to the synagogue after Eli's death stands indefinitely; he only wants whatever she wants, whatever will make her happy. And up until today, he'd assumed what she wanted was time. But now he's not sure there's enough of it.

However, he's damn well sure the only thing he's doing with his time right now is wasting it.

Tony shows up at her door at exactly 11:26pm. He knows because he anxiously checks his watch ten times, trying to reassure himself that it isn't too late, that she isn't already asleep, that he's not bothering her.

Ziva answers the door a few seconds after he knocks, dressed in leggings and a T-shirt. In the hour between when she left and now, she's changed and showered (he can tell because her hair has returned to its naturally wavy state, and the scent of her shampoo is fresh). She raises an eyebrow quizzically at him, and he starts to wonder if this is a bad idea.

"Yes, Tony?" she asks sweetly, albeit faintly and tiredly. He clears his throat.

"Did I wake you?"

"No. I was up reading."

"Oh, okay. Good," he continues, trying to hide his nerves. He shifts his weight onto his other foot, and sighs inwardly. He's too old for this, too weary, but then again that's still more reason for him to be here, still the more reason for this not to be a bad idea. "May I come in?" he asks shyly. Ziva blinks a few times.

"Oh, yes, of course, please," she offers awkwardly, standing aside to let him into the hallway, and shutting the door behind him.

Tony walks into her living room and stands in the middle of it, looking around; nothing's changed since he was last here earlier that month while she was at his apartment, under his protection, to pick up clothes and other things she needed for her trip to Israel. His eyes glance down at the couch, where the book she momentarily abandoned to answer the door lies face down, the couch cushions acting as a bookmark. He takes a few steps toward it in order to read the title. When he does, he smiles.

"What's so funny?"

He looks up to see her leaning on the armrest on the other end of the couch, head cocked to the side. _She always looks so cute when she does that_, he thinks to himself.

"The Little Prince?" he asks, still grinning, as he picks up the book and opens to the page she left off on. Ziva shrugs.

"It is a very nice story, and a quick read," she replies matter-of-factly.

"You know, the only movie you've ever quoted was The Little Prince," he jests.

"I quoted the book, not the movie. We've been through this already, _Tony_," she retorts, rolling her eyes. He nods, only half paying attention to her as he reads the text. She's up to one of the best parts, he notices. In that instant it's just so…relatable. He sighs and begins to read it aloud to her.

"_One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you-the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose_."

Tony pauses here and looks up at Ziva. She watches him, pensively.

"Best part," he mumbles as he replaces the book on the couch. She nods, her gaze still fixated on his face. He meets it with his own.

If he had to pick his favorite thing about her face, it would be her eyes. Over the years, he's learned to read her through them; she may think she's put on a stoic façade, but when she's upset or angry there's a way her eyes start to shine, a way their dark brown depths betray her closely held and guarded emotions, that assures him that she is certainly not fine, contrary to what she may say.

"Do you believe in second chances?" Tony asks suddenly, boldly. Ziva narrows her eyes, apparently puzzled by his question.

"I suppose, in certain circumstances," she affirms hesitantly.

"Like what?" he presses.

"I do not know," she sighs, exasperated. "Tony, is there a point to this? A reason why you decided you needed to be here at half past eleven at night?"

Tony considers deflecting her inquiry, making a joke, a pretense. But he realizes just how counterproductive that would be. They've come so far, and they've lost and nearly lost so much, that he thinks waiting any longer might cause him physical agony. He has done so much to show her how strongly he cares about her; he's got to tell her outright.

"The reason I'm here, Ziva, is because…" Tony swallows and takes a deep breath, preparing to break a doomed pattern. "What happened today, and everything that's happened in past month, actually, has made me realize something. I don't want to keep hiding what I want and what I feel about you. I'm done waiting, and being afraid, and doubting that…that we could make each other happy. I want more than this. I want…us. Not us as in just partners or friends, but as in together." He keeps on talking, not giving her any time to respond or interrupt him. He has years worth of things he needs to tell her, and only a few minutes at best to do so. "I care about you, Ziva. I care about you a whole lot. I'm in…" He stops himself before he can make an outright declaration of love (he's not feeling _that_ bold tonight), and opts for the more indirect admission, "And recently I've been starting to think that I might even be in love with you. Everything I've done, it's been to make you happy, to keep you safe, to let you know how much I care about you. How much I'll always care about you. I trust you with my life, and I like to think that you trust me with yours. If you'd just give me a chance to be with you, to show you that I can make you happy…I promise you won't regret it."

Reaching the end of his monologue, he looks to her for a reaction, his heart beating a mile a minute in anticipation.

While he had been expecting a verbal response, the sensation of her arms around his neck and her lips pressed against his is definitely more than welcome. He reaches around her waist and holds her to himself as he returns the kiss laden with eight years worth of emotions. In the wake of the feeling of affection for her that washes over him, Tony wonders how he could have ever thought that she might accept his confession any differently. This is him and Ziva he's talking about, for crying out loud; Tony and Ziva who are completely incapable of living without each other. This was inevitable.

The instant she breaks the kiss, he misses her.

"I care about you too, Tony," Ziva whispers. "And I do trust you with my life. I trust you with my heart as well. I would love nothing more than to be given the chance to make you happy, to be happy together." Her eyes have gone misty, shining with tears; however, Tony knows, with a degree of satisfaction, that this time it is not because she is distraught or enraged, but overjoyed, and probably even a little in love with him, too.

He lets out a shallow laugh, resultant of a mixture of relief and pure bliss, and shakes his head in disbelief as he rests his forehead against hers.

"Why did we have to wait so long?" he wonders aloud.

_"_I suppose we just needed the time. _It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important__," Ziva quotes slyly. _

"Mmm, and she is, isn't she," Tony murmurs, grinning, before drawing her face back to his and kissing her senseless.

The first coherent thought he's able to form is a comparison between this kiss and their last, on an undercover op over seven years ago. That frantic, hungry kiss, the basis for the majority of his fantasies about her (admittedly, there are many), couldn't raise a stick to this one; the trust and the love the two of them feel for each other makes it infinitely better. Whereas in his younger days he had thought one night stands and relationships lacking in commitment to be optimal, he has since realized that isn't what he wants, nor is it what he needs.

He needs her, needs her to open up to, to remind him of who he really is. She needs him, her shoulder to cry on, her friend to lean on. It is this mutual need and dependency which intensifies every touch, every kiss, the sound of each whispered word against the other's lips. This is the reason why the both of them have faith that their relationship can be sustained.

When Ziva's fingers start to toy with the buttons on his dress shirt, his hands fly up to grab hers.

"No," Tony murmurs firmly against her lips. She pulls back an inch and stares at him confusedly. He can see the hurt manifested on her face, and realizes that she must think he's about to rebuff her advances.

"Just not now. Not tonight," he clarifies. "I don't want to screw this up before it's even started. I've messed up relationships by moving too quickly, by doing…certain things too soon, and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I wasted my second chance with you."

Ziva draws her bottom lip between her teeth as she nods in understanding. She presses one last chaste kiss to his jaw, and then to his lips.

"Maybe that is for the best," she sighs. "It has been a long day, to say the least." Ziva wraps her arms around his waist and rests her head on his chest. "Can you still stay?" she mumbles into his shirt.

Tony smiles and kisses the top of her head.

"Of course," he whispers tenderly into her hair. "Anything for you."

* * *

As agreed, Tony and Ziva don't sleep together that night. Well, not in the way that's euphemistically referred to as "sleeping together", at least. They do end up curled up together on her couch, arms around each other as they rest. Ziva uses Tony's chest for a pillow, and when she wakes up from one of the nightmares which have plagued her over the past few weeks, this one even more intense after her near death experience that day, he is there. Tony is there to calm her, to remind her that he is here and that she is safe. Minutes later she has fallen asleep again, feeling secure in the comfort of his arms as the steady, dependable thud of his heartbeat lulls her to sleep. She has no more nightmares that night.

Ziva realizes that maybe dependence on the person in whom you place your trust wholeheartedly isn't such a bad thing after all. While many people in her life have betrayed her, she assures herself that Tony won't. She supposes love does make a person blind; or, on the other hand, perhaps it opens one's eyes instead.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Finally, chapter 3. I'm sorry for how terrible I've been with updating, I'm just really busy. Just a note, if I post chapter 4 before June I will be highly surprised (standardized tests and finals make life hell). But. To make up for it, this is the longest chapter yet. And I worked very hard on it. If anyone is still reading this I love you!**

**Disclaimer: I'm just an insane fangirl with a laptop.**

Ziva had never pegged Tony for a red roses kind of guy. Then again, at one point she'd never thought of him as sentimental, as trustworthy, as anything more than a "player", to use the American idiom. But she's learned to see through that shaky exterior, watched the cracks form as the metaphorical man behind the mask emerged, showing himself to be not only compassionate and completely worthy of her trust and respect, but willing to prove himself worthy of her love. She supposes she loves him dearly for it. No; she _knows_ she loves him dearly for it.

The more pertinent question might be how he found the time, between leaving her apartment at five in the morning to go back to his and get ready for work, and actually arriving at work by seven-thirty, to order the flowers. The only plausible explanation might be a florist who owed him a big enough favor to sell him two dozen red roses at seven in the morning, and have them delivered by noon. That, or maybe he'd simply pulled the time out of thin air; he'd essentially done more impossible things for her in the past. Ziva isn't sure which conjecture is the more plausible.

However, it isn't so much the flowers which bring the wide grin to her face today, but the note Tony has sent with them. It reads "_Roses for the only rose I could die for. Dinner with me tonight?"_ and is signed with his full name, "Anthony DiNozzo, Jr." Her heart leaps and skips a beat at the tenderness in the formality. He makes her feel like a teenager with a first crush.

She looks up at him after reading it over for the umpteenth time. He's standing in front of her desk; not leaning on it, not tapping his fingers impatiently on the edge like a tired child, but simply standing before her with a hopeful expression about his face, his eyes pleading with her to say yes as he anxiously awaits her answer.

"This is…a date, yes?" she clarifies, trying not to laugh, because for the first time in months, the first time before Eli….She wants to laugh, wholeheartedly.

Tony opens his mouth, closes it, shifts his eyes to and fro, then shrugs and nods at the same time.

"If you want to call it that, yeah, a dinner date," he chokes out.

She contemplates teasing him, drawing out the response a few more moments, but ultimately decides that would be cruel, especially after how he's shown her those pieces of his tender, vulnerable heart; after all the compassionate, sweet things he's done for her. In the end, Ziva finds that she cannot contain her assent a second longer.

"Yes," she breathes, because she cannot find enough air in her lungs to make the single word louder than it comes out. He has stolen what little she once had.

Tony gives her that million dollar grin which he must certainly know, by now, has the ability to melt her to the core. His eyes light up with an excitement she cannot remember seeing there before; neither the thrill of an exhilarating case nor the prospect of mischief has been able to achieve the pure joy and expectation Ziva sees in Tony's eyes, and she's not sure if she should feel proud or if she should just fall in love with him a little bit more (in the end, it's probably a little of both).

Gibbs and McGee burst into the squad room that very instant, and the moment is over.

"DiNozzo, David, what've we got?"

* * *

"It's unlocked!" Ziva calls from her bedroom in answer to the hesitant knock at the door. As she slips the second strap of her dress over her shoulder, she hears him walk into the living room, closing the door behind him.

"Ziva?"

"I'll be out in a minute, Tony." She checks her hair one last time, fixes her eyeliner, and grabs her bag and coat before going into the living room to meet him.

Tony is standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, glancing around at the picture frames and furniture like the stereotypical high school boy waiting to pick up his date, all the while fearing that her father might bring out the shotgun any minute. He gazes fondly upon the roses which now sit in their vase on her coffee table.

"Ready?" she asks, holding her coat and handbag behind her back so that he can see all of her. Tony whirls around, and when his eyes widen ever so slightly, she offers up a barely perceptible smile at the achievement of the desired effect.

"Wow," he breathes reflexively, taking her in. The little black dress is adorned with intricately patterned black lace and only reaches to her mid-thigh, leaving a whole lot of nylon-clad leg for him to admire. "You look amazing," he gushes, the corner of his mouth turning up in a shy half-smile.

Ziva isn't entirely sure what to say, but manages to spit out a short "Thank you" in return. She's too busy staring at him to form a simple sentence; he's changed into a new suit, nicer than the sort he often wears to work, and freshly shaved. She can smell the cologne from here, across the room, and it mingles with the scent of whatever 'masculine' hair product he uses (she's learned that some men's shampoos smell just as fruity as women's; his is one of these). He is very much the Tony DiNozzo she's come to know and admire: rock on the outside, mush on the inside; he plays the part of the carefree bachelor when he knows people are watching, yet he's secretly ready to give away his heart to any woman who might ask for it.

She wonders if he'd give her his, and at the same time realizes that he already has. Which is a good thing, she decides, since he's had her heart from the beginning.

* * *

"Dean's? Is this restaurant new? I don't remember ever hearing of it," Ziva asks Tony as she gets out of his car, taking his proffered hand.

"Yeah. Technically it doesn't open until tomorrow, but I knew Dean at Baltimore PD. He's retired now, and he and his brother decided to open a restaurant with their grandmother's family recipes. Anyways, he said he needed some 'test' customers, and I told him we'd be happy to help him out." Tony tentatively places his hand on the small of her back as he leads her to the front door, and when she doesn't shy away, he continues. "Just letting you know, Nonna Calabria made a mean marinara sauce, so I suggest you try that."

Ziva hums in reply. As Tony goes on about the Calabrias' family recipes that she just _has_ to try, her mind wanders. Her thoughts drift to his hand, the fingers of which now rub small circles on the small of her back. They drift from his fingers to two inches higher, and begin to wonder at Tony's reaction if he ever were to find what is hidden there; if he ever were to see those _things_ which mar her upper back, her left hip, the upper part of her right thigh. She imagines the look of horror, of pity, which might pass across his face, much as it had Ray's the first time he had seen them. Her jaw clenches. Ziva most certainly doesn't desire another ounce of sympathy.

She is shaken from her pessimistic thoughts when they reach the door and he steps forward to open it for her. The playful wink he shoots her chases away her nightmarish fantasies, and she is once again reminded how grateful she should be for him, for this partner whom she trusts so completely.

As they enter the empty restaurant, a man in his early twenties, presumably a waiter from the black dress shirt and slacks, comes towards them.

"I'm sorry, sir, but we don't open until tomorrow."

Just as the young man is about to tell them, in more polite terms, to get lost, a middle-aged man with tanned skin and graying black hair steps out of the kitchen.

"DiNozzo!" he calls, making his way towards them and clapping Tony on the shoulder. "How've you been?"

"I'm good, Dean," Tony answers, shaking Dean's hand, "never been better, actually," he adds on, giving Ziva a sideways glance. She feels the heat of a blush begin to creep up her neck.

The young waiter has slunk away in shame, and so after he and Tony do some quick catching up and Ziva has been introduced, Dean shows them to their table for two in the center of the dimly lit dining area.

"Are you expecting many more people?" Ziva asks politely as she takes a seat in the chair Tony slides out for her. Dean chuckles.

"Tony didn't tell you? You've got the place to yourselves!" With that he goes back into the kitchen to find their waiter, who has apparently disappeared. Not that Ziva notices his explanation for taking leave of them, as she's far too busy gaping at Tony, who has settled into the seat across from her.

_He never does anything half way, does he._

Most of the men she has dated in her life have, at some point, taken her to dinner at a nice restaurant. Tony, of course, has to be the first one to take her to a place where they have the whole restaurant to themselves. It dawns on her then, that there really isn't anything he won't do for her. Tony DiNozzo refuses to be outdone.

"You like it?" Tony murmurs, reaching out around the miniscule candle at the center of the table to tenderly cover the hand she rests next to her napkin with his own. His palm dwarfs her entire hand, drowns it in his warmth. A little voice inside her head wonders, not for the first time, what he can do with those big, warm, hands of his.

"Yes," Ziva answers, her eyes glued to his. "Tony, this is, quite possibly, the sweetest thing you have ever done for me. The sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me."

Tony beams, and laughs.

"I was asking about the restaurant, actually. But glad to hear you're enjoying our evening, too."

"Oh," Ziva half-whispers, drawing back an inch in embarrassment. Tony refuses to let her slide her hand out from under his, and instead grasps it between his thumb and his palm.

"You know, it took me forever to come up with this idea. I was starting to think I wasn't going to be able to beat Puccini," he begins again, staring down at the tablecloth. "Then, thinking about Puccini got me thinking about Italy, and thinking about Italy got me thinking about Italian food…I mean, it doesn't take much to get me thinking about food but…anyways, thinking about Italian food made me think of Dean, and how he'd mentioned to me the last time we went out for drinks about the restaurant. So I gave him a call and, well, it all sort of fell into place." When he ends his stuttered monologue and looks up, she can see that he is trying to gauge her reaction.

"Once again, DiNozzo, you've outdone yourself," she teases, but her tone is such a transparent façade she doesn't even know why she bothered to try to hide behind it.

They stare at each other, speechless, breathless, silent. Their conversation has trailed off, words have become inadequate. Much like when they are in the field, facial expressions and heartfelt glances outdo words, transcend a sound or a touch. Ziva's chest tightens with unrestrained emotion for the man who sits across from her. Through all his flaws, he has managed to do something absolutely perfect, and as he watches her he begins to understand this. For once in his life he's sure that there isn't a thing he could do to possibly screw this up.

"Good evening," says the waiter, reappearing at the most inconvenient time possible. "My name is Matthew and I'll be your server tonight. Can I start you out with something to drink?"

* * *

It's all going wonderfully until Tony's cell phone rings.

His mouth is stuffed full of stuffed shells, and so when she goes to answer it for him he raises no objections. Ziva checks the caller ID, and not recognizing the number, answers with a hesitant, "Hello?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," a young female voice replies, "I must have the wrong number. I'm looking for a Tony DiNozzo?"

"This is his cell phone," Ziva informs the voice, skeptically. "Who is this?"

"Can you tell him Diana called? I was wondering if he wanted to go out for a drink tonight."

Some sort of red emotion, a mix of anger and embarrassment, diffuses through Ziva's body, claws at her heart, as her eyebrows draw together and she presses her lips into a hard line. Tony notices the change in her expression, and after swallowing the rest of his mouthful of food, he holds out his hand.

"For you," Ziva nearly growls, stating the obvious but not caring, as she shoves his phone into his outstretched hand.

"Hello?" Tony answers, his gaze trained on Ziva's face as it betrays the deterioration of her mood. "Who is…oh, Diana! Yes, from the…yes, I remember. Um, look, drinks isn't such a good idea right now…No, dinner tomorrow isn't going to work out…I'm not exactly free…Yes, the woman who answered the phone is my…okay. Don't worry about it. Okay. Bye." Tony ends the call and then shoves it angrily into his jacket pocket.

"Who. Was. That," Ziva grinds out bitterly through her teeth. Tony's eyes soften sympathetically, and he reaches out for her hand again. Ziva snatches it away, and he sighs the sigh of a defeated man, of a man who's begun to believe he can't do a single thing right.

"Ziva, please, listen…"

"Don't even try that line with me, DiNozzo!" Ziva shouts, sliding her chair away from the table. "You are not the first man to try to get away with that, and you most certainly will not be the last! Who was that woman, Tony? Your girlfriend? One of your worthless flings who you just so happened to forget about?"

"Ziva, this is completely irrational!" Tony argues. "That girl is not my girlfriend, she never was. She's a waitress at a bar who I gave my number to over a year ago. At least I think she's a waitress. I haven't seen her in a year! I have no clue why she was even calling me! Ziva, you've got to believe me."

"Why?" Ziva asks furiously, standing. "Why should I believe you? It's not like you haven't lied about your girlfriends to me before!"

Tony gets up and stands next to her, tries to take her in his arms, but she steps away like a frightened animal. He looks at her desperately, trying to beg her to listen to him, to believe him.

"I wouldn't do that to you, Ziva! Out of anyone in the world, not you. I might have done it in the past, but I would never lie to you. Not after everything that…not after everything we've been through."

But Ziva doesn't hear him. She's taken a risk, she's opened up to him, tried to let her walls down and commit herself to a relationship with Tony, and once again, she's been betrayed. Every single man she opens herself up to betrays her.

"Do you know, what it was like?" she whispers wrathfully. "To watch you with _all those other women_, when the whole time I was falling in…" She cuts herself off, but it's too late. Ziva can see in his eyes that he understands.

"And you think it wasn't hard for me to see you with Michael, with Ray? You think it wasn't hard for me to watch you nearly get engaged to another man, Ziva?" He stops. He doesn't need to say anything else. For that matter, neither does she. Ziva turns on her heel and storms out of the restaurant.

"Ziva!" Tony shouts, running after her. He follows her out the door and half way down the street, calling her name. His calls are interspersed with pleas and apologies, until he's officially begging her to turn around and look at him. She wants to turn around, _God_, how she wants to turn around and listen to him and let him tell her that he loves her, that he never loved any of those other women. She wants him to tell her all those things about love and a family and a future, but on the other hand she's done listening to lies and forcing herself to believe they'll come true. She's done being weak. She wasn't raised to be weak. Eli didn't raise her to…

_He raised you to be a ruthless, soulless killer_.

_Sometimes, life surprises you._

_I want whatever you want, whatever you need._

Ziva stops as the tears and sobs she has been holding back for the past five minutes threaten to spill out.

"Ziva, I'm sorry. Please, just look at me." Tony has caught up with her by now, and stands a few feet away. She might as well hear him out. He doesn't deserve to have fallen for someone as broken as she is; the least she owes him is a chance to make her listen. So Ziva turns around to face him.

"What, Tony?" she says dejectedly, all the fight gone out of her. "Tell me whatever it is you obviously need to." Tony notices the change in her demeanor, the shift from combative and confident to beaten and tired. He delivers the following appeal in a softer tone than the ones prior.

"I don't want another woman, I just want you. There isn't anyone else, I swear. God, I haven't so much as kissed a girl in the past year who wasn't you." It sounds strange when he says it, but the fact of the matter is, Tony DiNozzo hasn't kissed a woman since that awkward make out session with his ex-fiancé, Wendy, last year. "I promise, there won't ever be anyone else, okay? Ziva," he sighs. "I want you to be my last girlfriend."

Ziva does a double-take.

"You…want me to…?"

"Yeah," Tony affirms. "Look. I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow, or the day after that, or next month, or next year. I'm not a psychic. All I know is that I want you to be there. There isn't anyone else in the world who could ever take your place." He laughs nervously. "You've got me wrapped around your finger, I guess."

They stand silently a moment in the cold late-winter air, the sounds of the city at night playing as the background score.

"Am I forgiven?" he asks eventually.

She shakes her head, and then quickly clarifies, "There is nothing you have done that needs forgiveness. I should be the one to say that I am sorry."

"Now where have I heard that before," Tony muses. He reaches out his hand. "Come back inside with me. Finish your dinner. Please."

Ziva nods and takes his hand.

"No more silly accusations," she promises, leaning her head against Tony's shoulder.

"No more bringing up scumbag ex-boyfriends," he pledges in return.

As they return to their table and lukewarm entrees, Ziva begins to let herself believe that this, the relationship she and Tony have built between themselves, could actually work out in the long run. And that's probably the most comforting thought she's had in three months.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: I know, I know, I suck. I told you guys June and it's almost the end of July. I'd written half of this chapter when I heard *the* news about Cote de Pablo leaving the show. I have a plethora of emotions in regard to that (although I will say that I'm not angry; any anger I may have originally have subsided soon after) which I will not waste space diving into here. Anyways, since then I've had trouble writing, but I think fanfiction will help me deal with all this. So, I will continue to write fanfiction, no matter how things go on the show. Will I still be terrible at updating? Undoubtedly yes. But I've already planned this story out so rest assured it will, at some point, be completed. For now, here's chapter four. I'm sorry if it's on the short side, for my lame excuse see the 3rd sentence of this overly long note. As always, thanks for reading!**

* * *

"Here you go," Tony says as he delicately hands Ziva a glass of wine.

She scoots over to make room for him on the couch. "Thank you," she murmurs.

The ambiance of soft candlelight adds a romantic touch to his apartment, which, he must admit, often lacks the feeling of being lived in; sometimes it looks more like a furniture showroom than the apartment of a forty-something-year-old man. It gets lonely. It's like the light that's been missing from his own life has been missing from his home as well.

That light is, at this moment, slipping off her shoes and curling her legs under her as she snuggles into the cushions of his couch. She knows that she is far more than welcome to make herself at home here.

Ziva looks up at him and smiles over the rim of the glass.

"What?" he asks.

"You're staring."

"Oh." His mind scrambles for a witty remark. "Can't a guy stare at a beautiful woman?"

"Depends on the context," Ziva returns with a laugh.

Tony chuckles along with her. He ventures out to gently place his hand on her knee, exposed from under the hem of her dress, and is relieved when, instead of shrinking back from him, she places her hand on top of his and holds it there. She sighs deeply.

"Tony…we need to talk."

"Talk? About what?" he asks skeptically, his brow furrowing.

"About…us," Ziva shrugs. "Our relationship. It most certainly has not been, you know, _simple_ in the past. And I want to know exactly what you expect from _this_. You have made it clear that you are looking at things…long term, yes?"

"Yeah. Long term." It feels exhilarating and terrifying at the same time, just saying those words: _long term._ Commitment obviously isn't his strong suit, but hey, they've been partners for almost eight years now. That probably makes her the only woman to remain in his life for that long. They're already in a long term relationship, of sorts. It's just that now, in this new version of their relationship, he gets to hold her, gets to kiss her. And that prospect dwarfs his commitment issues.

A smile lights up Ziva's face. "That's good, because…long term is what I need, what I've been looking for ever since I left the Mossad." She takes another sip of wine. "And I think I have known for a while that it's what I needed from you if we were ever going to be together. Because I don't think I could _ever_ fathom letting you go."

Tony gulps. The confirmation that she feels exactly the same about him as he does about her is making his head spin. If he's dreaming, he hopes he never, ever, wakes up from this.

"Yeah. Yeah, me too." He lifts her hand in his and gently presses it to his lips. "And I know that when it comes to men, you haven't exactly had the best of luck. I know, I know, I promised, no more talking about scumbag ex-boyfriends. But I want you to know that I could _never _treat you like that. I promise I will never lie to you. I'll never leave you waiting two months for a single phone call." Tony takes a sip from his glass before he looks up and stares her straight in the eye. "They could drag me to the pits of hell and I'd still find my way back to you."

Ziva's arms wrap around his neck and she leans her head on his chest. He holds her tightly in his arms, still amazed that she has granted him the ability to be this intimate with her.

"I have been to the pits of hell, believe me. But somehow, _you_ dragged me back to you. And you know that I am grateful to you for that. But forgive me if I have ever doubted your sincerity, if I have ever refused to trust in you. In the world I grew up in, dependency on anyone or anything but yourself would often prove a lethal mistake. For a while I was afraid that I was beginning to be dependent on you, especially after what happened to Eli..." She takes a deep breath. "Well, maybe I am," she laughs, "and maybe that is not in my own best interests. But I've come to realize that depending on and relying on someone, on you, might not kill me in the end."

"Oh, it probably will," Tony jokes. "You seem to get my sorry ass out of trouble more often than you should need to."

"Well, while you might not be the most convenient partner…"

"Hey!" Tony objects, and Ziva smiles before continuing.

"You are still a good partner. And I am happy that you are mine."

Tony presses his lips to her forehead and then buries his face in her hair. Ziva curls into him, and he wraps his arm behind her knees and pulls her into his lap. He then leans down to whisper in her ear.

"Don't tell McGee, but you're the best partner anybody could have. And I'm happy that you're my partner, too."

The bracelets on her wrist jingle in his ear as Ziva moves her hand to rest on the side of his face, and leans up to place a soft kiss on his lips.

"Your secret is safe with me."

They cuddle on his couch for the better part of an hour. At one point, Tony leans over to grab the remote for the stereo from the coffee table and turns on some soft Jazz music, temporarily disturbing Ziva's position in his lap. But as soon as he settles back down on the couch, she slides back into his lap, wraps an arm around his neck and paces her other hand on his chest, right above his heart, and curls back into him as he pulls her into his embrace.

"So we're…_together_ now, right?" Tony asks tentatively.

"Yes," Ziva replies softly, "if that is how you want to put it, then we are _together_."

He grins inwardly.

"Good."

Tony then bends down and kisses Ziva with all his heart and soul.


End file.
